Caveat: Foucault’s Fun Farm

[This is a “back-post”;  it is a work-in-progress, so it may change partially or completely, with materials added or taken away, over the next several days or weeks.  This is “day 4(a)” of my stay at the Vipassana Meditation retreat.  For general comments and summary, see “day 11.”]

It’s all about the discipline.

Michel Foucault is one of the most notable philosophers of the 20th century, and I would say his most influential work on me personally was his Archeology of Knowledge (which, incidentally, I read the first time in Spanish translation as Arqueologia del saber).  Nevertheless, perhaps one of his most widely-known works is Discipline and Punish, and within my imagination, Foucault’s name is synonymous, perhaps unfairly and certainly inaccurately, with certain notions of the weird give-and-take of our relationship, as individuals and more broadly as a civilization, with discipline, both external and internalized.

So I have coined the term “Foucault’s Fun Farm” for this entirely voluntary retreat that is so focused on concepts of discipline.  The disciplinary aspects include everything from the hours we keep to the food we eat, to the way we interact (or refuse to interact) with one another, to the way we sit and think (or not think). The fact of the matter is that I like it.

The same way that my favorite part of my military experience was the training — when discipline was maximal (and things seemed profoundly ethical and fair), and meaning was almost non-existent.  The same way that I can sometimes be nostalgic for a long stay at a hospital, where everything is structured and predictable.

Because one of the things I most lack in my life, is self-discipline.  Or…well… I feel that I lack it.  I’m better than I once was, really.  But I came here, ultimately, as much for the discipline as for the meditation, per se.  Certainly, I didn’t come for the Buddhist dogma.  That last is just a sort of adjunct, an annoyance… a gnat.

Beware dogmatic gnats. They’ll bite you.

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Caveat: O blessed itching sensation

[This is a “back-post”;  it is a work-in-progress, so it may change partially or completely, with materials added or taken away, over the next several days or weeks.  This is “day 3(b)” of my stay at the Vipassana Meditation retreat. For general comments and summary, see “day 11.”]

This is pretty self-explanatory. I tried to make peace with the itching sensations. Not very easy to do.

I never really could remember what else I meant to write here. That’s a disadvantage to “blogging in one’s head.”
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Caveat: Touch of Desperation

[This is a “back-post”;  it is a work-in-progress, so it may change partially or completely, with materials added or taken away, over the next several days or weeks.  This is “day 3(a)” of my stay at the Vipassana Meditation retreat. For general comments and summary, see “day 11.”]

The main teacher of the Vipassana movement, whom we watch speaking in videos each evening, has a strong Hindi accent.  When he talks about our practice of “anapana” (meditation on feeling our respiration on and around our noses and upper lips), he uses the phrase “touch of respiration” – but his accent renders this “touch of desperation” to my ears.  And that’s a bit how I’m feeling.
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Caveat: True Dogma

[This is a “back-post”;  it is a work-in-progress, so it may change partially or completely, with materials added or taken away, over the next several days or weeks.  This is “day 2(b)” of my stay at the Vipassana Meditation retreat. For general comments and summary, see “day 11.”]

I felt rather disgusted this evening with Mr Goenka’s discourse.  He makes all these claims to be presenting something that’s scientific and non-sectarian.  He states repeatedly and unequivocally that this is not dogma, but simple truth.

But, in fact, what he’s presenting isn’t just dogma… it’s pretty darn orthodox Theravada Buddhist dogma, at that.  I wouldn’t hesitate to describe the belief system underlying his vipassana practice as a sort of neo-orthodox fundamentalist Theravedism… for those of you who care about such things.

The fact of it being orthodox Buddhism doesn’t bother me in the least.  I knew (and know) that vipassana is a Buddhist meditative practice.  But, as many of you know, hypocrisy does bother me.  A lot.  And when someone like Mr Goenka tries to sell orthodox Buddhism as something non-sectarian and non-dogmatic, that pisses me off. So, today, I feel pissed off.
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Caveat: False Joy

[This is a “back-post”;  it is a work-in-progress, so it may change partially or completely, with materials added or taken away, over the next several days or weeks.  This is “day 2(a)” of my stay at the Vipassana Meditation retreat. For general comments and summary, see “day 11.”]

At 4:40 PM, I find my Buddha-nature in my left nostril.  But it’s a false alarm.

Really, all that’s happening is that I’m calming down. My mind is still wandering a lot.  And we’re watching our respiration. I noticed that earlier today, when my mind wandered, it was mostly agitated, worrying, negative thoughts. But this afternoon, I found that my mind would wander to positive things – daydreams, happy things. And at the same time, I’m watching my breathing.  In the morning, it was mostly in the right nostril. This afternoon, it has switched to the left nostril.  So there must be something happy in my left nostril, QED.

I realize this is fallacious argument. Also, having happy distracted thoughts instead of negative distracted thoughts still isn’t matching the objective, I don’t think. The idea is to detach from both kinds of distracting thoughts.

All the same, it put me in a very cheerful, joyful, almost elated mood, having all these happy distracted thoughts.
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Caveat: Which nostril?

[This is a “back-post”;  it is a work-in-progress, so it may change partially or completely, with materials added or taken away, over the next several days or weeks.  This is “day 1(b)” of my stay at the Vipassana Meditation retreat. For general comments and summary, see “day 11.”]

The focus of this first day is to watch our own respiration.  Not control it – simply observe it. Feel the air moving in… out… in… out.  Is it deep breath?  Shallow breath? Is it through the left nostril, or right, or both?  Contrary to our uninformed intuition, we almost always are breathing more through one nostril than the other. I never thought about this before.

So, the question becomes:  which nostril? Today… mostly the left.
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Caveat: Happiness is serious business

[This is a “back-post”;  it is a work-in-progress, so it may change partially or completely, with materials added or taken away, over the next several days or weeks.  This is “day 1(a)” of my stay at the Vipassana Meditation retreat. For general comments and summary, see “day 11.”]

How can I expect to learn a path to enlightenment from such grumpy-seeming people? All the managers and assistants seem way too serious. And the main instructor (slash “founder” of the modern vipassana movement I guess), Mr Goenka… he seems like a very sad man, and almost never smiles in his video presentations. The male manager at this retreat is grim and shifty-eyed. The only person who consistently seems happy is Leslie, the head supporting instructor who leads the group sessions (mostly via running the sound-system that plays Mr Goenka’s guidances, and then providing additional instructions and/or answering questions).

It leads me to ponder: maybe, all-in-all, it’s not the sort of enlightenment I’m interested in?
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Caveat: Vipassana Day Zero

[This is a “back-post”; it is a work-in-progress, so it may change partially or completely, with materials added or taken away, over the next several days or weeks. This is “day 0” of my stay at the Vipassana Meditation retreat. For general comments and summary, see “day 11.”]

I am going to a “meditation camp” by an organization called Vipassana. “Vipassana” is the name of the meditation they practice, something popularized by a teacher named S.N. Goenka, ethnically Indian but born and raised in Burma. I would classify it as a sort of neo-orthodox theravada buddhist trandition, though Goenka and his followers like to claim it is “non-sectarian” – more about this claim later.

I am not allowed to use computer or writing materials, but each day I will compose one or more titles to blog entries, that I can remember and use to cue memories later on, and then write down after the retreat is over.

The camp is in Pecatonica, Illinois, about 20 minutes west of Rockford. The site is very beautiful. I signed in, put my cellphone, etc. in storage, attended an orientation and introduction, and got settled in the dormitory.

Here is our daily schedule:

4:00-4:30 AM.  First gong. Wake up, shower, etc.

4:30-6:30 AM.  Meditation.

6:30-8:00 AM.  Breakfast. Personal time. (I already know, this will be “nap time” US Army style.)

8:00-9:00 AM.  Group meditation.

9:00-11:00 AM.  Instruction and meditation.

11:00-12:00.  Lunch.

12:00-1:00 PM.  One-on-one interviews with the teacher.

1:00-2:30 PM.  Meditation.

2:30-3:30 PM.  Group meditation.

3:30-5:00 PM.  Instruction and meditation.

5:00-6:00 PM.  Tea. (There will be fruit but no meal — students are encouraged to fast after mid-day.)

6:00-7:00 PM.  Group meditation.

7:00-8:15 PM.  Discourses by the main teacher (via videotape).

8:15-9:00 PM.  Instruction and meditation.

9:00-9:30 PM.  Questions and answers with teachers, or personal time.

9:30 PM.  Lights out.
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Caveat: Ummm

I will be completely "offline" for the next 11 days.  I'm going on a meditation retreat.

No, I haven't become a buddhist.  Or anything like that.  And, actually, I've felt somewhat embarrassed telling some of the people who know me that I'm doing this, but in fact it's something I've wanted to do, and have been planning, on and off, for not just years, but decades.   I guess I feel embarrassed because it doesn't really match the cynical, anti-spiritual persona I present of myself.  Well, anyway…

I will be off the internet, off cellphones, not even taking reading material, for this next week and a half.  If I come out a weird cultist, I'm counting on everyone to do some kind of "intervention" quickly.  But as my friend Bob said, earlier today,  I came out still myself from the Army, and lots of other crazy things… no reason why this should affect me any differently, right?

"I will always retain my inner core of pure cynicism," I retorted.  But it's been shading toward a weird, optimistic sort of cynicism for some years now, I would add.   The positive-thinking cynic?

Caveat: Pretty Good Continent

I visited my "friends-from-Korea" Joe and Christine this evening, in Bloomington, Indiana, after driving across from Philadelphia and staying in a motel last night south of Pittsburgh.

Joe said something funny:  "I keep following your blog, waiting for you to stop moving, but you keep moving."   I've been traveling a lot, definitely.   North America seems like a pretty good continent.

More later.

Caveat: Michelle’s Ghost

I stopped and had dinner with my friend Basil last night, in Morgantown, where he’s enrolled in a graduate program in TESOL. It was weird seeing someone from my “life in Korea” while driving around the US, but he’s a very cool guy and in some ways he was my best friend during my time in Korea.

Today, I stopped in Quakertown. It was snowing hard, and eastern Pennsylvania is very beautiful. But there are personal ghosts of a difficult past, resident in the names of highways and towns, in the vistas of rivers and in the office parks alongside freeways. I’m trying to make peace with some of these ghosts, and the ghost of ghosts is Michelle’s ghost. I went to the house where she took her own life, in June of 2000. I wasn’t there — we were already separated, although divorce wasn’t something we were talking about seriously, at that point.  But we’d been talking on the phone about once a week, all that spring and early summer. So I knew “where she was at” and I knew things weren’t going well.  When I got the call from her mom that she had died, I had already bought the airplane ticket to Philadelphia — I had intuited something terrible was happening, perhaps.

I flew out, and it was chaotic, nightmarish. I spent long hours in that house in Quakertown, where I’d never actually lived, since she and Jeffrey had moved in there after I’d gone to Los Angeles to stay with my father. All my “stuff” was there, along with hers.  I had to sort it all out, without offending the debt-lawyers who wanted to liquidate assets.

So, today I visited that house in Quakertown. I sometimes have had a strong feeling that Michelle’s ghost is following me around in the world. But other times, I’ve thought that if she has a ghost, it’s more likely tied down at that house. Stranded.

I parked my truck and got out and walked around. I talked to Michelle’s ghost, telling her that I wanted to come visit, to tell her how Jeffrey was doing, what I’d been doing.  I opened the passenger door to my truck, and I invited her to join me in my travels. I don’t know that she came along. I don’t know that she was there. I’m not really a believer in ghosts, but I do believe in powerful psychological symbolisms. I guess.

Here is a picture of the house in Quakertown.

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Caveat: Somewhere in Ohio

My extremely disorganized, whirlwind tour to the East is well underway.   I'm basically driving to Philly for the weekend, with side trips to New Jersey, West Virginia and Indiana squeezed in where they best fit the itinerary.   It snowed continuously all across Wisconsin, driving down last night, but Chicago was clear at midnight and beautiful.  And now I'm in Ohio, near Oberlin, which makes me remember my year in politics, 1984, when I worked for the Mondale campaign and ended up at some conference/rally in Oberlin during one hectic long weekend.   That was a long time ago, eh?

Caveat: Kafka Teaching at Hagwon

I woke from a vivid, angry dream. Was it from all that exertion, yesterday, moving my stuff? Is it because I’m stressing over the fact that I haven’t heard back from Curt about the job?  Not sure…

I dreamed that I was starting my teaching at some new hagwon. In the dream, it’s Curt’s, but it doesn’t look like Curt’s (which I’ve visited and know very well what it looks like). The place is VERY disorganized, and resembles a theme-park more than an Ilsan hagwon. On my first day, they hand me only a class schedule, not even any books. I’m late to my first class, because I don’t hear any bell. And all the classes after that are in a row, with no breaks, and I can’t find them. I walk into random classrooms, and ask, “is this…?” to find out if it’s the correct class.

The kids are recalcitrant, and then they begin to lie. They answer “No” when it should be “yes” to my question. And then, I lose the piece of paper with the schedule I’d been given. I go back to the staff office, and no one there is willing to admit they work there. No one will give me a new schedule. There’s some guy cleaning the floors, but when I start to talk to him, he runs away.

I’m climbing ladders and going down seemingly hidden passages to find classrooms, only to find they’re empty, or already with another teacher.  One teacher asks me, “why are you teaching here?” There’s a group of kids sitting in what looks like a sidewalk cafe, but they’re clearly supposed to be in class. I begin to yell at them, and they just laugh. I go back to the office to try to find out what class they are — are they mine? By the time I get back to the sidewalk cafe, they’re all gone.

Very strange dream. Shows a lot of anxiety over the teaching thing, huh?

I woke to find snow on the ground, outside. After yesterday’s efforts, I’m majorly unmotivated. Snow is beautiful, but inconvenient to run errands in.

Here’s the truck, in Mark & Amy’s driveway, covered with a dusting of fresh snow:

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Caveat: Jared, 7 … Storage Unit Full of Stuff, 1

I win! I win!

Well… not really. But I was productive.

I downgraded my storage unit to a smaller size, today. And moved all my stuff into the smaller unit. I counted 117 round trips, walking between the two units, about 100 yards apart, carrying all my stuff. And that’s not counting the trips my friends Mark and Amy and Martin and Charlie made when they came to help toward the end of the day.

But I got everything moved, on schedule, and everything fit. I have 50 boxes of books, 20 boxes of old notes and files, 30 boxes of who-knows-what-kind-of-junk, a refrigerator, a couch, bookshelves, tables, many plastic bins of clothing, etc. A lot of stuff.

Now I feel very tired. I think tomorrow I will start driving East.

Here is a picture of about 50 boxes of books, arrayed in spaced piles 4 high, in preparation for the journey on a 2-wheeled dolly over to the new, smaller storage unit:
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